


Two Birthdays

by cellorocket



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Birthdays, F/M, Gen, cute shit, idiots who can't handle feelings, skinny love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorocket/pseuds/cellorocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marlowe is almost the perfect gentleman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JulyStorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/gifts).



> For my lovely bae Manna on her birthday! I hope you enjoy <3333

 

Marlowe knew something was afoot when Hitch arrived at breakfast on time.

And not only on time, but relatively put-together; her uniform was unusually neat, the toes of her scuffed boots hastily polished, flyaway hair combed and smooth. When she took a seat across from him, he saw evidence of a pimple on her cheek, one she had picked at and covered in an anxious fit. As she made an effort to present an uncaring face to the world, it was oddly endearing to see that perhaps she did care more than she let on.

“What are you staring for, huh Marlowe?” she asked with a sly grin. “See something you like?”

At this point, he was too accustomed to her teasing to acknowledge this particular barb. “You’re early.”

“Yeah … so?”

“You’re never early.”

“Now, that’s not fair. I’m not a _complete_ slacker. And sometimes the kitchens serve my favorite breakfast; that’s the kind of thing you wake up early for.” She took a hearty bite of her eggs as if to punctuate this statement.

“But eggs aren’t your favorite.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. Sweetrolls are your favorite.”

“Geez! What’s with the interrogation, huh?” She put down her fork and eyed him, slightly irritated. “Can’t a girl be on time without it being some big _thing_?”

He was quiet a moment; the kind of quiet that irritated her sometimes, the kind that came easiest to him – one of contemplation. Whenever he allowed the silence to linger too long for her comfort, she liked to tease him about watching the gears crank behind his eyes, whatever that meant. “I suppose not.”

But he wondered, and his curiosity only deepened as they finished their breakfast and assumed their post – paired patrol on the south side of the city again. She seemed equal parts reticent and eager; a far cry from her usual affected boredom. She heaved a sigh, tinged with fondness instead of irritation, and craned her gaze up to the cornflower blue sky.

“It’s so _nice_ today!” she exclaimed to the world at large, rearranging the rifle strap on her narrow shoulder. “When’s the last time we had a day as nice as today, huh?”

He watched her with growing alarm. It had been sunny and warm for the last two weeks; in fact, the only difference in atmosphere he could see was her bright mood. She turned to smile at him, hair fanning out, and his stomach gave an odd lurch. _Really_ , he thought: if she was so intent on keeping her secret, she should try and make it less obvious.

When she caught him staring, her brows disappeared into her bangs, her cheeks reddening. “What?”

“You’ve been acting strangely, Hitch.”

“God, this crap again? I’m acting like I always do.”

“You’re whistling. You haven’t complained about the hour or our shift or being paired with me or – well, about anything.” With anyone else, he would have trotted out his observations on her appearance, but with Hitch he kept silent; inexplicably, he didn’t want her to know that he had noticed. His head titled, as if the change in perspective would align her strange behavior in his understanding. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

“You’re lying.”

“Uh huh. And you’re sure about that, right?”

“I am, actually. You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

“Hmph. Maybe I’m just in a good mood! Did you consider that, detective Freudenberg? Huh?”

He hadn’t, to his shame. Hitch typically comported herself in a state of wry amusement, smug delight at the ridiculous goings-on of their daily routine, and he had assumed that this was the way her good moods manifested themselves. But he’d never seen this shade of her before, coy yet optimistic, content with her circumstances. Was she really so rarely happy about anything? The thought made him desperately sad. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “It _is_ a nice day.”

And it was, he thought as he watched her hop onto the low wall bordering the river, arms held aloft as she balanced with carnival ease. It was nice to see her like this. As an offering, he waited until they saw some civilians in the distance before he told her to get down.

“Aw,” she pouted, clattering down to his side. “You’re no fun.” But the pout lasted for only a moment before she grinned, hiking her rifle strap up her shoulder again.

~

Their patrol lasted until just before sundown, when the evening shift relieved them. He’d spent the day paying more attention to Hitch than their surroundings, inexplicably captured by her strange mood, filing it away for later contemplation. He _knew_ something was going on, knew it in his gut, the way you can sense a change in the air when the weather shifts.

But he didn’t know what was more confounding; the cause of her mood, or why she couldn’t just admit it to him. He tried not to feel a bit stung by this as he watched her store her rifle in her locker, humming tunelessly under her breath; he’d thought after weeks of their increasingly frank discussions that they had eked out some trust, at least enough to admit when one was happy about something.

“Hey, Marlowe,” she said as she closed her locker, notching her hip against the handle. “Wanna come out with me?”

“What?”

“Just for an hour or so,” she wheedled, craning around. “I want to go to the bookshop. Since we just got paid and all.” A quick pat to her jingling pocket for emphasis.

“Well …”

“Marlowe, come on! Don’t make me go there alone! At _night_.” A sad look, chin cast down, peering up at him through her dark blonde lashes. “Pleeeeeeease. If you keep standing around they’ll close and it’ll ruin my perfect day.”

His brows lifted. He was being played, but for once he didn’t have much of a problem with it. That probably made him a sucker. “Alright.”

He could do with something new to read, anyway.

Stohess at dusk was more to his liking than daylight; the soft clouds fading purple in the red streaked sky, low conversation surrounding them as they made their way through the thinning crowd. Already he could see faint stars and the half-faded moon above them, setting the night. It was spring, and the river swelled against its cobbled banks; the rushing like a long exhale.

Without warning, Hitch looped her arm through his, and the sudden close constant made him jump. “We’re off duty,” she informed him seriously. “That means you have to escort me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, of course,” she said with wide, suspiciously guileless eyes. “Isn’t that how it goes in your book? The gentleman escorts the lady in public.”

“It wasn’t exactly a favorable arrangement,” he told her. “She didn’t want to be escorted; she had to because it was proper.”

“Well, _I_ want to. It’s nice.” She gave his arm a soft pat. “It’s sweet. Besides, if some shady guy shows up with trouble on his mind, maybe he’ll think twice seeing you, huh?”

“If some shady guy showed up with trouble on his mind, you could probably handle it yourself.”

“Seriously?!” This time she swatted him. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Is that what we’re doing right now?”

“Yeah! You’re ruining my nice romantic stroll with your mean crap! Would you really let me fight some jerk alone?”

“Of course not. That’s not what I said, anyway – I just said you _could_ probably handle it yourself, not that I wouldn’t intervene.”

She blinked, and in a moment her grin was back. “Oh! Well, that’s alright then. Yeah, you know; I probably could handle it myself. Since I can manage _you_ in hand-to-hand combat, I could probably manage anyone.”

“I don’t think defeating me in hand-to-hand means as much as you think.” He glanced down at her, mouth quirking in slight irritation. “And it was a draw.”

“No way was it a draw! I dropped you no problem! I could have probably knocked you out if I wanted.”

“I had your arms behind your back. You went down too.”

“Yeah, well. Sacrifices must be made in the name of victory, isn’t that right?”

“But it wasn’t victory. It was a draw. Like I said.”

“You are so annoying! Why can’t you just admit that I beat you?”

“Because you didn’t.”

This time she pinched him. “Be quiet, gentleman escort. You’re supposed to look strong and handsome, not irritate your lady companion.”

“My apologies,” he said dryly. “I’ll endeavor to accompany you with less offense.”

“Yes, please do.”

Belatedly, it occurred to him that even though she’d probably been teasing, she still had called him handsome. He’d never really thought of himself as such, an observation supported by his peers, who liked to mock his overlarge nose and severe haircut. It didn’t really bother him; the way someone looked was irrelevant compared to what they did, so he didn’t give it much thought. He expected positive assessment would be similarly easy to dismiss, yet somehow he found himself thinking about it as they made their way along the riverside.

It didn’t matter so much if he actually was; what confounded him was the possibility that _she_ thought so. As if she could sense his thoughts, her fingers tightened ever so slightly on his arm. She drew close enough that every few steps their hips brushed. 

They arrived at the shop moments before it closed; the bookseller had been staring dreamily off into nothing, but her stare became dismayed when she saw them approach, Hitch positively bouncing with excitement. “We won’t be long,” Marlowe assured the bookseller apologetically as Hitch rushed past him, plunging deeper into the musty shop. He expected her to heave another sigh and pout, but to his surprise she returned in only moment with a well-worn tome clasped between her hands.

Carefully, she counted out the price of the book while the shopkeep looked on, thick brows twitching up now that it seemed she would be able to close on time after all, and a whole thirty-six markers richer. When they pushed back out into the street, the sun had almost completely disappeared beneath the horizon; he had to crane close to see her. “That was fast.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had my eye on this one for awhile.” She shrugged happily. “It’s the next one in my series.”

“The one with Alaine?”

“Yeah! For a long time I didn’t even know that there were more; I thought it ended with her getting married off to Lord Beverly. Remember that creep?! I was so mad!”

He felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth, too small to see in the low light. “Yet it’s still your favorite.”

“Well … yeah. A bad end doesn’t make the whole thing bad.” She hugged the book to her chest. “And it’s not even really the end, anyway.”

He was quiet for a moment too long, watching a slight breeze catch at her hair. Unbidden, an odd, disconnected impulse to tuck that loose strand back behind her ear stole across his thoughts, made his fingers twitch against his restraint, the knowledge of what was good and appropriate, what he would allow of himself. Already this was dangerous, yet he persisted in drawing closer, inexplicably fascinated by each layer of character she chose to reveal, each detail, physical and otherwise, that stole his attention long after the lights had gone out.

Flushing, he cleared his throat. “I hope you enjoy this one. The end and everything before it.”

“I think I will,” she said after a heartbeat pause, turning away from him, but before her hair drew around her face like a curtain, he caught a glimpse of her earnest, mysterious smile, and saw her gently brush the cover of the book like one might trace their name over bare skin.

~

He walked with her to her quarters, as befitting a gentleman escort. He was tempted to invite her back to his room so they could talk more – about books, and his feeble defense against her teasing – but the curfew bell was due in five minutes. And anyway, he figured she would want to spend the rest of her night reading her new book, learning the brave heroine Alaine’s fate.

But instead of slipping inside her room with a teasing crack at his expense, she turned to face him full on, and he’d never seen such a smile before – it nearly lit the darkened hallway, a more powerful source of light than the sun. “I had a really good time today, Marlowe.”

It was a relief he stood in darkness; maybe she wouldn’t be able to see the color on his cheeks, blatant proof that her words affected him more than he would like. “I … I did, also.”

“This has been the best birthday I’ve ever had, you know. So … thank you.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare in increasing dismay. “It was your birthday today?!” he blurted. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have –“

“No,” she cut him off, waving her hands like signs. “No, no. Seriously, stop. I didn’t want any of that stuff.”

“But – why?”

She sighed, but it was a tender thing. “Because, Marlowe. If you had known it was my birthday you’d have gone well out of your way and insisted on buying me something, probably, and you _definitely_ would have put up with my teasing without fighting back because it’s my birthday and you’re supposed to be nice to people on their birthdays, right? Well, that’s _boring_. I like it when you fight back. And when you get all annoyed and retort in that cute deadpan. And I like it when your mouth get all twitchy when you’re trying not to find something funny. And I really like it when you spend time with me because you want to and _not_ because you feel obligated.”

“I …” He could hardly wrap his mind around this. It was more than a little startling to realize she understood him so well, and after so little time spent in each other’s confidence; he was only barely working out who she was under the coy grin. “I wouldn’t have felt obligated.”

“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t’ve known that for sure. And – and I wanted to know.”

He could think of nothing to say to this. “I’m not going to let your birthday pass without giving you something, you know. It’s–“

“The Right Thing to do, right?” She smiled at him. “Well, there is one thing you could give me …”

“What is it?”

And there it was; that implacable catlike grin, curling wide. “You _could_ give me a birthday kiss …”

He colored, to his incredible embarrassment. Of course she would ask for something like this. She must have sensed his odd reaction and decided it was hilarious; perhaps it _was_ hilarious, if he took a step outside the center of it, the confusing swirl of feeling, clouding even his notoriously steady judgment. But he knew it would be churlish and cowardly to refuse – she wouldn’t have asked at all if she didn’t find the possibility of him agreeing at least somewhat pleasant.

He drew close, heart thudding clumsily somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Hesitating, gauging himself and her response, the shrinking distance between them. It was then that he wondered if she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended, if this wasn’t some cute joke to cap off a nice day; her lips parted and her breath caught, and she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. And for a few stuttering heartbeats, caught in her hazel eyes, he thought about kissing her for real.

Instead, he carefully took her hand and brought his lips to her fingers. A gentleman would have kissed the air above, but he let his touch her skin ever so slightly, and linger just a moment too long.

“Good night, Hitch,” he told her when he pulled away. Her cheeks were bright red, and he was sure his were too. It had been a joke, a deflection, a small gesture to keep their easy rapport, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that kissing Hitch anywhere was far too much for him to handle.

He left her standing in that charged, darkened hallway outside of her room, thinking dimly that he’d finally found a way to stun her into silence as easily as she did to him.

 

* * *

 

Marlowe expected nothing for his birthday. By the time November 25th rolled around people were preparing for the winter solstice, and most didn’t have any time, resources or attention to spare. His new comrades in the Survey Corps didn’t know about it, and except for his sister, his family was not in the habit of celebrating something as frivolous as a birthday, not when they had the store to run. He was fine with it, normally; he didn’t expect gifts and attention from people, and if he was to receive anything he would rather it be because he had done something worthy of it, rather than simply being born.

But Hitch wasn’t speaking to him. He wasn’t speaking to her, either. They had argued and she had cried and told him that he wasn’t fit for the Survey Corps, and he had coldly informed her that he had misjudged her character after all, and she’d cried even harder. That spring on the river seemed very far away, the softness of her skin against his lips. Even now, after everything that had been said, it brought a quick flush to his face.

He could hardly let himself think about it without getting upset. Stupidly, he had hoped she would join him here, that she would have wanted to continue the work they’d done. Foolishly, he had thought they were a team, partners in an increasingly crazy world; he’d seen her come back for him when his life had been in danger and taken it to heart. Like an idiot child.

His new comrades insisted he was stupid; that she had been upset because she cared, that she wanted him to stay because she didn’t want him to die. And it wasn’t like he wanted to leave, either; just that it was the right thing to do. And for him, the right thing was the only thing.

But how right could it be if it made her cry …?

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Jean until he had kicked the leg of his chair, startling him out of his reverie.

“Look alive, kappa. You got mail.”

Marlowe blinked, rubbed at his face. “Probably from Sarah.”

“Nah. It’s not your sister’s handwriting.” He might have been imagining it, but Jean’s expression became somewhat sly. “Knock yourself out.”

Marlowe just barely caught the package, turning it over in his hands. He didn’t recognize the scrawled script, cramped letters sloping across the page as if tilted, affected inexplicably by gravity. He carefully removed the thick brown paper until a book lay in his lap. Not just any book, however; the book that Hitch had bought on her birthday.

His stomach dropped. He turned it over and flipped open the front cover, and a folded piece of paper fell into his lap. Hands trembling, he laid it flat on the desk and began to read:

_Marlowe,_

_I know you think I’m scum again, but I didn’t want you to go your whole dumb birthday without getting anything from anyone. Especially since you probably pulled the same stunt I did, right? Didn’t tell anyone about it? What a punk. Takes one to know one, I guess._

_I’m letting you borrow this book: BORROW, not have. You have to give it back to me, because that was the deal. And you have to tell me what you thought of it. That’s also part of the deal. And there’s no use complaining about it; those are the rules. And the day I care more about rules than you is probably the end of the world, so don’t go doing anything like that. This world’s the only one we got._

_I know I said some mean things, and you said some mean things, and I just – well, I’m sorry about it. I’m not sorry about wanting you to stay here ~~with me~~ in the Military Police, but I’m sorry I was a jerk. You’re an idiot, but not in a bad way. Not in the way I meant when I was yelling at you._

_~~I miss you. I miss you so much. I don’t miss people and I never have, and I sure wasn’t planning on starting, but I miss you Marlowe. Tell me what the hell that’s about.~~ _

_There’s one more thing. You have to give the book back in person. That’s the most important part, okay? You have to be here and put it in my hands and tell me what you thought to my face. So don’t go doing anything stupid and leave me hanging, got it?_

_\--Hitch_

_P.S – it’s really good. It’s even better than the first one, just like I said. You think something’s ended for a long time, but it kept on going and it was just waiting for you to pick it up. You’ll see._

He read the letter six times, until the words blurred together on the page; he read until he could discern the tender words she had reconsidered, and held them tightly to his chest. He read until he could have recited it word for word, and in her voice, the tone he had only ever heard when it was late and they were alone – vulnerable as a trembling exhale in a dark hallway, with his lips on her skin.

 

 

 


End file.
